Saturday, 23 July 2016

You've Got Mail

I watched 'The Lake House' the other night and thought to write a story similar to it... well, kind of. I've been trying to write something like this for a long time; and this time I think I got it right!

enjoy!

The day was stinking
hot when Tammy moved into the house she inherited from her agent and friend,
Brian. They weren’t close, but he had gotten her her start in the publishing
industry; and he didn’t have any family. He had never married or had any
children. But he did buy some great pieces of land with houses on them. In his
Will, he gave what the immediate family thought were worth something; and gave
her the house down by the river.

It looked like
something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting, but it appeared as though it hadn’t
seen anyone to look after it in over a decade. As she pulled the old set of
keys from her pocket, a car drove up behind the moving van and the real estate
agent got out.

“Hi.” She walked
over in her suit and heels, “Are you sure you want the house?”

“Yeah. My lease is
up soon and I don’t want to share house anymore.” She said, “I want to have a
place and space of my own.”

“I find that’s when
you can make the best decisions.” She smiled and walked up to the building to
open the front door.

From the first day,
she started receiving mail – and she hadn’t told the post office where she was
living yet. There was a letter from a man welcoming her to the neighbourhood.

‘Dear Neighbour,
welcome! My name is Ben. I live across the river in the other cottage. I
noticed you were moving in and would like to come and say hi one of these days.
Just leave a letter in your letter box to let me know when I can come and I’ll
do just that. Yours neighbourly, Ben Cross.’

She smiled and wrote
a quick note to him immediately, ‘Dear Ben, Thank you so much for your lovely
letter. So nice neighbours still welcome each other! I’ll have the house straightened
out by the weekend. So, do drop by on Saturday afternoon. Tammy.’

Tammy busied herself
with her new house, her next book and started cleaning up the garden as well;
and Saturday came just as quickly. During the week, she and Ben swapped notes
on a constant basis. She found out so much about him through his wonderful
penmanship and yet, wondered why the paper smelled like pipe smoke.

Then, the day came.
She had been out to the local store and bought some food just for that Saturday
afternoon visit from Ben.

However, he never
showed up.

‘Ben, what happened?
Did you get busy? Tammy.’

‘No, I was there. But
you weren’t. I was about to ask the same about you. Ben.’

She frowned at the
piece of paper as she stood by her letterbox when the postman walked by, “Miss
Tammy Kramer?”

Looking up, she
smiled, “Yes.”

“Boy, do I have some
mail for you!” He gave her wad of mail and three cards, “You have to collect
the rest at the post office.”

“Okay.” She smiled, “Hey,
do you know Ben Cross?”

His eyes slowly met
hers, “I did, yes.”

“Did?”

“He’s no longer
here.” He turned away and walked to the next house down the lane, leaving her
with her thoughts.

Tammy walked inside,
put the mail on the table by the door, grabbed the car keys and drove into town
to collect the rest of her mail. On her way there, she thought to drive around
the long way to see Ben’s house.

But there was no
house on the other side of the river.

“Who are you? What
are you doing here?” a voice shouted at her from the other side of the road.

She spun to find an
old man standing in front of her car, “Hi. I’m looking for Ben.”

“He’s no longer
here.” He snapped.

“People keep telling
me this. But I want to know why.”

“Why would you want
to know?”

“I’ve heard of him,
that’s all.”

“He died last year
in a house fire.” The man turned and walked down the road, his face twisted and
bitter.

Tears filled her
eyes, as she climbed back into her car, started it and drove into town,
collected her mail and back home almost without saying anything to anyone. When
she arrived home, she Googled Ben and found out how he died.

“Oh, my god… he dies
tonight last year… at 10pm.” She looked up at her clock and found it was 6pm;
plenty of time to write him a letter and warn him about what’s going to happen.
To stay away from his place for that night and, ‘…meet me at my house on 23rd,
July, 2016 at my letterbox. I will be waiting. Please don’t go to your place…
it’s going to burn down at 10pm. Trust me, because I love you. Tammy.’

She rushed outside
into the night air, pushed the letter into the letterbox, put the flag up and
waited next it.

She waited for the
next four hours.

Tammy was sitting
against the stone wall crying when she heard a car engine coming around the
lane. She checked the time. It was a little past 10pm, and scrambled to her
feet. Last year’s Mustang pulled up outside her house and a man – who looked
very much like a younger version of the postman – stepped out of it.

“Tammy? I’m Ben.” He
pulled out of his coat pocket a letter and smiled, “I’m not sure how this
worked, but I received this letter a couple of years ago while I was living at
this address to meet you here… but I had only started living across the river about
three months before you moved in. Your letter to not go home on the day of the
fire saved my life.”

“Where did you go
that night?” she asked.

“My parents’ house.”
He smiled, “I think you may know my Uncle, Brian. I believe he was your agent.”

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I'm a writer.
I'm a reader.
I'm a collector of books and other things as well.
People say I'm interesting, but I think I'm just an average person looking out into a strange old world with my own ideas of what's going on.
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